


Prime

by CloudAtlas



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Can I Be Bothered To Tag My Porn, Clint Is The Most Emotionally Mature Person Here What Is Up With That, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, Mild D/s, Multi, OKAY HERE GOES, Pegging, Polyamory, Rimming, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Tattooed Natasha Romanov, The Horniest(TM), Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Waxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: If Bucky had thought that his life had become a pornobefore– hoo boy.A sequel toImproper Fractions
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 57
Kudos: 355





	Prime

**Author's Note:**

> Oh yeah, back on this bullshit.
> 
> Beta'd by **inkvoices**. Title from maths but also from [Prime by Shearwater](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hu1IOuPxZu4), which has nothing to do with the story at all but I get the intro stuck in my head every time I see the title.

If Bucky had thought that his life had become a porno _before_ – hoo boy.

He and Natasha sleeping with Clint Barton had opened the motherfucking floodgates. Bucky’s horny _all the time_. It’s ridiculous. He feels like he’s fifteen, absolutely fucking stupid for Callie Joel and her mile long legs. Apart from he never got to sleep with Callie Joel – who had a fucking purity ring, because of course Bucky had been that stupid – and now he’s old enough to really know how his dick works.

And now he’s also into dudes, which is… a thing.

Definitely a thing.

Bucky got the taint piercing, because of course he fucking did, and as soon as it’d healed Natasha went to town on it so hard Clint only had to touch his dick before Bucky was shooting off into outer fucking space. And Natasha had just kept right on going, barrelling through painful oversensitivity and right into blinding need before _stopping_ and instead making him watch as Clint fucked her to orgasm.

She’d _tied him_ to the _bed_. What a bitch.

This was supposed to be Bucky’s revenge, but joke’s on him because – oh my god.

See, ever since Bucky got out, Natasha has been waxed bare. It’s just her. While he was inside she got waxed, got gauges, got a boob job, and got a job assisting Tim Dugan and his stupid moustache in his tattoo parlour. Bucky’s got no opinions her being waxed. He’s got no opinions on any of the shit she’s done – her body, her rules – but he just got to thinking, after the taint piercing. Because Clint _isn’t_ waxed. Bucky’s always surprised that Clint remembers to shave, to be honest, and Bucky likes the variety and wouldn’t care if Natasha stopped waxing or Clint started but he’d sort of thought…

He’s got a taint piercing now. Maybe _he_ should wax.

Bucky’s dumb as shit really. How the fuck he thought this would be any kind of revenge is beyond him.

He can feel _everything_. He’s had a chub since leaving the spa… salon… place. Everything is smooth and hot and sensitive, and Natasha is working on that massive chest piece today and Clint is meeting friends, and _Bucky needs to get fucked_. Like, stat.

Bucky fumbles his way into the apartment and heads straight for the shower, losing long moments to the wet glide of newly exposed skin. He then raids Natasha's toy box, grabbing his favourite dildo (a weird sparkly blue) and a jewelled butt plug, because Natasha owns no other type of butt plug apparently.

Which is why Clint and Natasha find him, sometime later, buck fucking naked and spread out on the couch with one hand on his dick and the other working a dildo in and out of his asshole, dripping lube.

“Hey Barnes we got – shit, _fuck_.”

Clint’s voice sounds like its coming from underwater.

“What the fuck Bucky,” Natasha voice cuts through the haze of pleasure. “What did I say about fucking on the – ”

“ _Oh my god_.” Clint’s close enough to see now; just the _idea_ sends shivers skittering across Bucky’s skin. “Did you…?”

Fingers graze over the bare skin of his taint and Bucky fucking _whines_.

“Aw baby.” Natasha's irritation is gone and in its place is her particular brand of patronising lust that _lights Bucky up_. “Look at that.”

“All smooth and pretty pink,” Clint says, peeling Bucky’s hand off his cock and replacing it with his own. “Jesus, makes you look even bigger.” He tugs. “Look at this fat fucking prick, drooling all over you.”

Clint finds it endlessly entertaining that Bucky is bigger than him in basically every way bar height and still folds like wet fucking cardboard under his hands. Bucky knows he does. He says so _all the time_.

Bucky peels his eyelids open to find himself gazing hazily into Natasha's lust-blown eyes.

“I remember,” she says, low like it’s a secret, “the first time I got waxed. Didn’t come out of my room for the rest of the day.”

Bucky nods, like that’s any kind of reply. He didn’t even make it back to _his_ room, after all.

“Jesus,” Clint growls, tightening his grip on Bucky’s cock, his other hand coming up to gently nudge Bucky’s hand off the dildo, to pull it out and away, leaving him empty and clenching on nothing. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ. I wanna eat you out. Can I, Buck? Can I get my mouth on your pretty pink asshole?”

 _He’s a teacher_ , Bucky thinks, and his pulse skyrockets. He doesn’t think he’s never going to get over that fact.

He nods and Clint is wrapping his arms under Bucky’s thighs, lifting him until he’s balanced on his shoulders, curled over on himself. Thank Christ he goes to the gym. Thank Christ he does yoga.

“Sit on his face,” Clint says to Natasha. Bucky’s not even sure if it’s the words or Clint’s lips on his baby-smooth balls that make him cry out.

Natasha doesn’t sit on his face, because this is already a completely unsustainable position and his shoulders are already hurting, but it doesn’t matter because Bucky’s been basically edging himself for over an hour. It’s almost embarrassing how close he is. Clint’s mouth between his legs and Natasha's lips on his shaft are enough to send him over in literally under two minutes, come spattering on his chest. And then Natasha _gone_ , palming a condom from _somewhere_ and climbing into Clint’s lap.

And Bucky just lies there, shuddering with their motions and staring at the ceiling.

Bucky hears Clint grunt as he comes and the wet sounds of Clint fingering Natasha to completion. Then there’s a heavy silence, like the deep breath before the plunge, before Clint starts laughing.

“Jesus Christ Barnes,” he says, running a hand down Bucky’s calf. Natasha's giggling into Clint’s neck, not even off his lap, just sat there on his dick, and Bucky’s not even sure why he’s laughing too, but he is.

Natasha knocks the coffee table as she stands making the dildo and butt plug fall to the floor with a _thunk_ and that just sets them off again; Clint with his fly open, Natasha with her shorts caught around her still-booted foot, and Bucky wearing sweet FA.

“C’mon,” Clint says when they’ve finally calmed down. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I bought burgers.”

“And,” Natasha adds, “you’re paying for any dry cleaning, just FYI.”

And Bucky thinks: fair.

So, yeah. Totally a porno. Minus, like, the plumbers.

Also, Bucky’s fairly sure pornos don’t have as much mundane conversation in them as the three of them manage, which isn’t _that_ surprising really – he and Natasha have always talked shit while fucking – but it feels like it _gains_ something, when it’s Clint. Mostly it’s just dumbass stuff; Clint humming _The Final Countdown_ when Bucky is close and making him laugh, or getting Natasha to explain her tattoos while she’s under him. But then one day it’s Clint with his fist tight around Bucky’s dick asking, “Hey, you two wanna see a movie?”

Bucky can’t remember the last movie he saw that wasn’t on Netflix. He’s not even sure the last time he was in a movie theatre. Though to be fair, he’d also be pushed to remember his _name_ right now, so.

But they say yeah and end up at some obscure art house cinema that Clint knows getting emotional over some weird Polish film. Bucky buys popcorn and Clint buys nachos and Natasha flirts her way into getting a supersized soda for the price of a regular one from the wide-eyed hipster behind the register.

It’s _nice_. Bucky’s social life is mostly comprised of Natasha, his best friend Steve, and Steve’s wife Peggy. Sure, sometimes there’s Yelena, or Tim Dugan and his weird group of hipsters if he’s really desperate, but running a business is hard and Netflix always has _The Great British Bake Off_ or that stupid tattoo show if he’s feeling bitchy. It’s nice to do something else for a change, even if it’s just seeing a movie with his roommate and their lodger.

Who is a math teacher. And his fuck buddy. _Their_ fuck buddy.

What the hell.

But then it becomes a thing. 

“Hey,” says Clint, when Bucky is licking at where his and Natasha’s bodies are joined and Natasha’s reverse cowgirling (and isn't that a dumbass name?) on Clint's lap, “there’s an exhibition on tattoo design on in Greenwich Village this weekend. We should go.”

 _What the fuck,_ Bucky thinks. _Is this really the time to ask?_ Natasha’s moaning above him, and he and Clint are working hard to make her lose her mind, and Clint’s talking about _tattoo exhibitions_. What, are they not distracting enough? But he's so earnest and when they're done Natasha says yes – though, shit, if she was with it enough to remember the question Bucky's gotta work harder – so that weekend they wind their way to Greenwich Village and Clint watches them get excited over tattoo designs wearing an expression like he’s won something. 

And –

“Hey,” says Clint, stroking a hand down Bucky’s back as Natasha goes to town on his asshole with a dildo _just_ bigger than usual, “they're showing _Galaxy Quest_ at the Roxy on Saturday, and I know how you love _Galaxy Quest_. Wanna go?”

And of course he's going to say yes, just as soon as he can catch breath enough to speak. Of _course_ he is. It's _Galaxy Quest_. Alan Rickman as Dr Lazarus is the fucking best, okay?

And –

“Hey,” says Clint, curled around a practically comatose Natasha after the two of them tried to get her to come _just once more, c'mon darlin’,_ “there’s a new Thai place on Quincey. I'll take you, my treat.”

And Clint knows how Natasha loves Thai. 

And –

“Hey,” says Clint, mouth wet from rimming Bucky into oblivion. 

And –

“Hey,” says Clint, and they’re already saying yes.

And then summer vacation arrives and Clint goes to visit his family in Iowa for _three fucking weeks_. 

“We used to be more interesting than this, right?” Bucky says, a week after Clint left. Natasha glares at him which, yeah, okay; probably not the best thing to say when Natasha's going down on him. She pulls off his dick.

“Am I boring you, Barnes?”

“Shit, no. Sorry. I was just – ” He sighs and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. “We did stuff before Clint, right?”

Natasha sits up, leaning against his side. “We watched _Bake Off_ ,” she says, scratching her fingernails through his slowly re-growing public hair. He should have known he’d be too lazy to keep up with waxing, really. “We’d meet up with Steve and Peggy.”

“Yeah, but they’re in Italy.” He sits up a little straighter, resettles. Idly gropes Natasha's tits, pulling gently at her piercings. “Hey, can I give you a tattoo while fucking you?”

Natasha gives him a calculating look. “No,” she says finally. “But I want something to go with my wolf.”

“You have any ideas?”

Natasha shrugs. “Not really. Why, do you?”

“Maybe.” He kinda thinks an eagle would be cool, or a hawk. Some kind of bird of prey at least.

She hums and finger-walks her hand between his legs. “Would _you_ let _me_ tattoo you while fucking you?”

He thinks about it for, like, two seconds. “Yeah, sure.”

“Me fucking you, or you fucking me?” She presses gently against his hole, a tease.

“Whatever,” Bucky says, shifting to press her more firmly against him, suddenly really fucking horny at the idea. “I don’t care.”

She gives him another calculating look and then sits up. Bucky whines like the slutty bastard he is.

“I’m gonna ride you,” she says, biting gently on his ear before standing up, “and I’m gonna tattoo you, and you don’t get a say in what I give you. Okay?” Shit, yeah, Bucky’s okay with that. Natasha has good taste. He nods. “Good. Strip and get on the bed, I’ll be back with the stuff in a minute.”

The octopus that sits over his right pec, tentacles trailing, now holds an arrow, delicate and impressively straight for a design done freehand with no transfer or prior thought. And then, because apparently she’s not done showing off, Natasha tattoos five beautiful gingko leaves across the ribs of his left side, the bite against bone a maddening juxtaposition to her fucking _rhythmic squeezing_ around his dick. Bucky’s panting and whining by the end, and Natasha has an addictive possessive hunger in her eyes when he comes, grinding her clit into his pelvic bone and digging her nails into his forearms so hard she draws blood.

Wanda is squinting at him from her desk where she’s organising that Gamora chick’s follow-up session with Natasha and it’s making his shoulder blades itch. Wanda has this way of making him feel like she _knows everything_. It’s super disconcerting.

“What?” he says eventually, putting the finishing touches on a potential design for Natasha; an eagle now curling around her original wolf design, as though they’re fighting or playing or… something. He’s really proud of it. Modifying existing tattoos is Bucky’s _thing_.

Wanda doesn’t say anything but her eyes narrow, if possible, even further.

“ _What?_ ” Bucky glares at her.

“He’s only been gone two weeks,” she says eventually.

“What?” Bucky asks, knowing he sounds like a broken record but also now just totally confused.

“He’s been gone for two weeks and the two of you have gone fucking crazy.”

“I – ”

“You’re _pining_.”

“I am _not_ ,” Bucky replies, actually offended. He’s not pined for anyone in his fucking _life_.

Wanda arches an eyebrow and, too fucking loudly even if the shop is empty, says, “You’re wearing a butt plug to work.”

Bucky’s shifts and flushes as Natasha's favourite red jewelled butt plug grinds against his prostate.

“I am _not_ ,” he says again, this time far less convincingly.

Wanda looks unimpressed. “My boyfriend is ace, Barnes. I know toys.”

Bucky does not want to think about Wanda and sex toys. Why would she _say that_?

Ignoring Wanda has never worked before, but hey, maybe today will be different. Bucky puts Natasha's design to one side, turning to grab literally the first design request he can find and staring at it resolutely. This guy wants… flash, it seems. Well, he can come in and look through the books. Praying hands are literally _everywhere_.

He tries to focus on the next request – something about hares and butterflies – but his shoulder blades are itching worse now. Bucky shifts in discomfort and hisses as the plug moves. He is never letting Natasha talk him into this ever again. It’s _maddening_. Plus, apparently Wanda can tell.

“Jesus,” Wanda says after a couple more minutes of Bucky studiously ignoring her. “You have the emotional maturity of a five year old.”

That… that stings.

Bucky glares at her and something in her face softens.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a sigh, “that was cruel and untrue.” She comes to sit on the edge of his desk, right next to Natasha's redesign, and curls a hand around the back of his head to drop a kiss into his hair. “I just… don’t be scared of being happy, Bucky.” She presses another kiss to his hair. “Don’t be scared of getting what you want.”

Her words hit him somewhere in the solar plexus. Bucky stares at his clenched fists, at the moths on the back of his hands, and breathes.

Wanda is the sister of a guy Bucky met inside; Pietro, who had been inside for dealing speed, among other things. Why they’d ended up in the same facility Bucky wasn’t sure, but they had, and they’d got out around the same time. Pietro had been fun and funny and a little manic, and Bucky and Wanda would meet up to talk about how he wasn’t coping well and was probably using again and how neither of them knew what to do. Pietro had inevitably overdosed about a year after they’d gotten out, but Bucky got to keep Wanda, at least.

Bucky puts a lot of stock in what Wanda has to say. She’s more together than anyone Bucky knows. Well, apart from Peggy.

“I don’t. Know what I want.” Bucky says eventually, leaning against Wanda’s shoulder. “Sometimes.”

“I know,” she replies. “That’s okay.”

They sit like that for a moment, just breathing and listening to the buzz of Natasha’s needle in the back.

“I _am_ sorry, Bucky,” Wanda says eventually.

“I know,” he says. “It’s okay.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you,” comes the soft reply, and Wanda drops another kiss to his hair. “Though,” she continues as the bell tinkles over the door, “you should know that I will be using my position as the only sensible person in this shop to ban the wearing of sex toys during work hours.”

The man who just walked in looks at them with wide eyes and Bucky feels himself redden.

Wanda grins and turns to the newcomer. “Hi, welcome to the Red Room! What can I do you for?”

Bucky can’t sleep. Partly because his mind is turning over what Wanda said earlier, but also because Natasha’s fallen asleep with her knee pressed against his decidedly unfucked asshole and it kinda hurts. He’s attempting to ignore both of these things by scrolling through Time Out New York for anything that catches his eye.

A beer festival here in Brooklyn. Would Clint like that? It looks kinda absurdly hipster so Bucky’s not sure. But Clint always has fun suggestions for things to do and Bucky kinda wants to return the favour. It…. makes him feel weird.

He scrolls for a little longer before he begins to feel too uncomfortable and swaps to Instagram, scrolling through his feed of some of his favourite tattoo artists. There’s a Māori woman in New Zealand who does the most incredible moko. Bucky wants some so bad, but he’s not into being culturally insensitive so he’ll just have to appreciate it from afar.

He sighs and switches to Twitter, then to the Red Room Facebook page, then to his own camera roll. He has a photo of Natasha topless, cupping her tits and laughing. It’s his favourite photo of her. She looks so happy and _Natasha_ in it. He also has a photo of Clint, shirtless and being molested by a dog in Prospect Park, but Bucky skips that one because it makes him feel some kind of way and he can’t deal with that right now.

Then he finds the tattoo design he pretends he didn’t draw for Clint and quickly swipes out of his camera roll entirely and heads back to Time Out New York.

Ooh. There’s an exhibition called _The Hidden Figures of the Space Race_ on at the New York Hall of Science. It’s about math. Clint would like that. Hell, it’s about space – _Bucky’s_ totally into that. _And_ it’s about badass ladies, which Natasha would like. A win all round. Bucky bookmarks the page and continues looking.

Clint’s flight out of Des Moines is delayed, so instead of arriving while Bucky and Natasha are still at work he crashes his way through the front door close to nine at night. Which at this time of year means nothing – Bucky and Natasha are drinking wine on the fire escape in the last of the afternoon sun.

But the crash is loud, so they both turn, and then Bucky’s brain vacates his skull because holy fucking shit.

 _Freckles_. They’ve – they’ve _multiplied_.

He makes an embarrassing wheezing sound, which he fully expects Natasha to mock him for, apart from she’s also looking at Clint like she wants to eat him alive.

“Oh hey guys!” Clint says, sounding long and lazy and Midwestern as fuck. “Any wine for me? I travelled Delta Airlines and life is a fucking nightmare.”

Clint’s John Mulaney impression needs work, but Bucky hardly notices because Clint’s in shorts and a tank top and Bucky had forgotten how… _everything_ he is. He’s so tall and tanned and blond. It’s like he swallowed summer. It’s like he’s made of gold. His teeth glint as he grins.

“No hello?” He climbs through onto the fire escape and forces his way between them, snagging Natasha’s wine glass as he goes, and she just _lets him_. “No honey welcome home?”

“Honey,” Natasha says, lower than usual, “welcome home.”

Clint grin gets, if possible, even wider, and he leans forward to give Natasha a kiss. It’s a – _very_ nice view. There’s a lot of tongue.

“How about you? Clint asks, turning to Bucky once the two of them have parted with an obscenely wet sound.

“Freckles,” Bucky manages, like a fucking idiot.

“Mm-hmm,” Clint replies, curling a hand around his jaw and pulling him in for a filthy kiss. “Beard,” he counters once they’ve pulled apart, scratching his nails through the four or so days’ worth of stubble on Bucky’s chin. “We’re fucking even.”

He stretches his – long, _long_ – legs out and Bucky gets stuck on the curve of his ankle.

“So,” he says, handing Natasha back her wine, “how have you guys been? Did ya miss me?”

There’s a short silence in which Bucky realises with lightning clarity _just how much_ he’s actually missed Clint these past three weeks, before Natasha says, “I bought a new dildo. Who wants to get pegged?”

Wow. Okay.

The thing is, Bucky almost always wants to get pegged, but Natasha had been looking at Clint when she spoke and it looks like she has a plan. A plan which involves Bucky being cuffed spread-eagled to the bed, which he is very, very on board with.

“Okay,” Natasha says. “This is how this is going to go down.”

The dildo is bumped and ridged and in sparkly swirly pride colours. Bucky’s actually never seen it before and doesn’t remember any packages arriving, so maybe Natasha went and bought it from an actual shop. He wants to put his mouth to it, but he currently can’t move.

“Clint is going to go here.” She directs Clint until he’s on all fours over Bucky, and then pushes him down until their groins and chests are flush. Bucky groans at the feel of their hard cocks sliding against each other. And also at the fact that he _can’t fucking touch_. “You can touch Buck anywhere chest or above and you can use your mouth as much as you like. I’m gonna fuck you until you come. Bucky, you can come whenever you like, but no one is going to help you.”

Clint grins at his groan of frustration.

“And what about you?” Clint asks.

“I have hands,” she says. “Or maybe I’ll use your mouth. I haven’t decided.”

She doesn’t specify whose mouth, but Bucky hopes she means his. Though actually, the idea of watching Clint going to town on Natasha's cunt is a very, _very_ appealing one.

“Ready?”

Clint bites at Bucky’s lips instead of letting him reply, but he manages a thumbs up anyway.

It’s fucking torture. Natasha opens Clint up with a brutal efficiency Bucky honestly didn’t think Clint would be into – not for himself, at least – making him rut down against Bucky _constantly_. She forces these little grunts and whines out of him which are bad enough but, any moment he manages to catch his breath, Clint – actual teacher and shaper of young minds – slurs the filthiest shit Bucky’s ever heard direct into his ear.

“God, bet you’re – _ng_ – jealous aren’t you? Such a fucking slut for it. Such a hungry – _fuck_ – ass. Bet I could put my hand up there – Jesus _fuck._ Bet you’d fucking beg for it. Big – _oh_ – big fucking guy like you and you’re just – _oh god Natasha_ – just aching for it all the time – ”

And, well, he’s not fucking wrong.

He shuts up when Natasha pushes home though, his whole face going slack with pleasure in a way that makes Bucky ache, trying desperately to thrust up despite having no fucking leverage at all. His cock is fucking drooling, the space between him and Clint slick with sweat and precome. He’s almost out of his mind he’s so close, being held teetering on the precipice through lack of friction alone.

And then there’s _Natasha_ , tits bouncing with each thrust, expression hungry and triumphant, scoring lines down Clint’s back and occasionally prodding at his hole just to make him cry out. Bucky _is_ jealous, but he’s fucked if he knows who he’s jealous of. Clint? Natasha? _Himself_?

The framed original 1977 _Star Wars: A New Hope_ poster on his wall, which gets to _watch all of this happen_? Jesus fuck.

Natasha does something – something probably mind-blowing and infernal – and Clint comes, nails scratching down Bucky’s biceps and teeth tight around his collarbone, a whine high in his throat.

Bucky’s sticky with sweat, hot and shaking, caught on the hazy black of Clint’s eyes and the giddy victory in Natasha's expression. All he needs is the sloppy sound of Natasha pulling out, and the patronising way she says, “Good boy,” like dark chocolate, and Bucky is _gone_.

Bucky falls asleep with Clint on one side and Natasha on the other, and for the first time in three weeks he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in sheets.

The next day is Sunday. Bucky likes Sundays because Red Room only opens for advance bookings. Bucky likes _this_ Sunday in particular because Wanda is the only one with a booking today so Bucky doesn’t have to leave the apartment at all if he doesn’t want to. And he _doesn’t_ want to. What he wants is to push Clint against walls and molest his mouth, or to watch Natasha do something _very similar_.

They make out in bed, they make out over breakfast, they only don’t make out in the shower because it’s way too small to fit two people, let alone three. When Natasha goes down to Red Room because Wanda can’t find some paperwork, Bucky and Clint make out against the kitchen counter. When Bucky goes to pick up take out, he comes home to find Clint and Natasha lazily making out on the couch.

Then, after they’ve eaten their fill of Chinese, all three of them pile back onto the couch, cuddled up together like puppies. They watch almost an entire season of _Dog Cops_ before Bucky gets bored and slides down to take Clint into his mouth.

Oh man, Bucky has _missed this;_ the stretch and the burn and the weight on his tongue. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed, the smell and the taste, the sounds of Clint and Natasha kissing somewhere above his head, their hands tangled in his hair.

And then Clint pulls Bucky tighter against him, making him gag and whine and drool, and comes down his throat. And –

“Hey,” Bucky says, pressing the heel of his hand to his dick, face wet and voice wrecked, “there’s an exhibition on at the New York Hall of Science about the Space Race. Want to go?”

Natasha looks almost spooked at his suggestion – and he gets it, he does – but Bucky’s also not looking at her. He’s looking at how Clint’s grin bursts over his face like sunrise.


End file.
